


(no one said we would go down) in a blaze of glory

by ayuminb, bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A Burn as Slow as Fuck, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons Never Went Extinct, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Heavy Angst, Major Character(s) death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn Robert/Lyanna, Srsly - the Angst is Real and It'll not Let Up for a While, The Authors Are Crying Just Thinking Of What Will Come Next, The Baratheons are Dragon Riders, Westeros Burns because of Them, honest to god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: If dragons hadn't gone extinct, how would it have changed the outcome of Robert's Rebellion?





	(no one said we would go down) in a blaze of glory

Lyanna’s lost all track of time. One day blends into the next while she’s trapped in this blasted tower. The swell of her belly is the only thing that changes here, each day a little bigger, a little heavier, a little _bloody hotter_. She dips a cloth in the pitcher of water Ser Arthur brought her and runs it across her neck, but it brings no relief from the Dornish heat.

 

_“Heat, my lady?” Ser Arthur had laughed when she told him of her suffering. “It’s hardly spring. I should hate to see how you find our summers.”_

 

She should hate to be here in summer as well. Would Rhaegar keep her here that long? Would he keep her here forever? It seems as if it’s been forever already. _I want to go home_. Though that thought scares her as well, because what would be waiting for her there? Shame, dishonor, Father’s wrath…

 

At least her marriage was off the table, she thinks as she rests her hands on her belly. How could Robert Baratheon want her now, with another man's bastard? Gods, when she asked for Rhaegar’s help, when he said he could break her betrothal, this is never what she imagined. But it’s not as if she said no. It’s a bitter memory, the first time Rhaegar took her to bed. Only five-and-ten, _not even a woman grown yet,_ how could she have known better? What else was she supposed to do but say yes to him? _Fight him,_ a part of her whispers, _run from him too._ But what could she fight with, where could she run?

 

She hates feeling this defenseless, hates knowing there is little she can do to escape now, and knowing that she willing walked into this cage. Most of all, Lyanna hates how painfully her illusions about valiant knights shattered in the face of the truth she’s living now, how cruelly Rhaegar had taken all the freedom, the choice he’d sworn she would have once she left her family behind. _Gods,_ but she hates him, like she never thought herself capable of hating, for the lies and his vile intentions of keeping her locked in this wretched tower aways from all she loves, as far as she knows.

 

Would if she could turn back time and throw the shield at his head… Lyanna sighs, looks out the window again, and down at the men who sit under the sun in full plate.

 

Rhaegar’s been away for more than a moon now. The knights who guard her would keep her ignorant, but she knows, she’s heard their hushed conversations. _War has broken out across the kingdoms. Lord Baratheon wants his bride back._ She knows that's why Rhaegar left, though she does not understand why he left her here. It would all be over as soon as everyone knew she was unharmed, and Robert would end his crusade for her hand if he could see her like this… _Why didn’t he take me with him?_ She stares out her window, north facing, trying to understand, and failing, feelings warring within her mercilessly. None of this was supposed to happen, none of it. She wasn’t supposed to be locked away in a tower like some maiden in a song, _trapped by a dragon_ , isn’t this what she was running from to begin with? Running from marriage, from being enslaved to a husband, forced to submit to his advances, bear his children… Rhaegar was supposed to be her salvation, not everything she never wanted. _How could he do this? He said he understood, he said he loved—_

 

 _He lied_.

 

He’s no better than Robert, or Brandon, or any other man, lying to get a girl on her back. And she _fell_ for it, the sting of tears prick sharply at her eyes, but she refuses to cry, she’ll not let him or anyone see her break like this. Lyanna thought she was so smart, smarter than those silly girls Brandon had, _but,_ she’s so stupid, and it had taken her until she was trapped a thousand miles away from home for her to realize just how stupid she was, truly. She can thank Rhaegar for that, at least. She’ll never fall for a man’s lies again.

 

It’s a speck on the horizon that catches her eye, no more than a dot in the distance, but it’s growing, quickly. A bug, she thinks, or a bird, but no, it’s too large, too fast. And then she hears the roar. _A dragon,_ she thinks, _the prince has returned._ He’s back.

 

Lyanna pulls her robe on over her shift and runs down the stairs. _I’ll make him take me back, he must_. The consequences for her actions can't be so bad as staying here. But the door is barred when she reaches it, locked from the outside. She pounds her fists against the wood. “Let me out, I need to speak with the prince! Ser Arthur! Ser Gerold?”

 

“My lady, go back to your chambers,” Ser Gerold replies with urgency, as the sound of dragon’s wings grow louder. She can hear the other members of the kingsguard as well, armor clinking and the sound of swords being drawn. She furrows her brow. _That can't be right._

 

“What’s happening? Let me out!”

 

“It’s not the prince, my lady. You must stay inside where you’re safe. I will come for you once this rebel has been put down.”

 

 _Rebel?_ But the dragon… Who outside of the royal family can ride one? And then she remembers his boasts, at Harrenhal, the way Robert bragged about his dragon, hatched from an egg given to his father by his princess grandmother, and that he inherited upon Lord Steffon's death. _Thunderclap._ Lyanna hurries back up the stairs as fast as she can, just in time to see an armored knight dismount the great black beast, larger than she expected, both man and dragon. Even crouching as it seems to be, Thunderclap stands as tall as her tower prison. As Robert draws a great warhammer from where it’s slung across his back, the dragon roars again and its golden talons claw at the dry earth, leaving scratches like gorges.

 

“Lord Baratheon!” Ser Gerold calls out, though why he has his sword drawn at all, Lyanna doesn’t understand. Robert’s got a dragon, no mere sword will even scratch it. It’s a lost battle before it’s even fought. “The battle’s gone your way then.”

 

“Aye, it has.” There’s no hint of jest in his voice as it seems to echo around the place, and if Lyanna squints hard enough, she finds not even the barest hints of a smirk on his face either. “Your prince is dead, his dragon slain, his armies crushed and burned. The war’s over and done.”

 

Ser Gerold shifts, lifting his blade. “I’ve still a sword in my hand, my lord, and orders from my prince.”

 

“Are you the Princeguard now?” He scoffs, and the disdain in his tone, it’s hard to miss. “I thought you were sworn to Aerys, _your king._ Also dead, by the way, and his dragon.” Robert pauses long enough for his words to sink, and she can see the way the knight shift and lift their swords higher. “Mayhaps because his guards abandoned him during wartime. What say your bloody vows about that?”

 

There’s nothing they could possibly say to that, even Lyanna can’t think of something to excuse it. _I thought they were here with the king’s leave…_ The silence stretches out and she feels the disdain swell in her as well.

 

Thunderclap growls menacingly, teeth bared and sending gusts of hot air upon the Kingsguard, as Robert says, “About imprisoning the defenseless? Or is it that you’ve sworn new vows to your prince? How good are those, I wonder, now that his ashes scatter to the wind?”

 

It rankles, how he refers to her, but it is the truth, now. She’s defenseless, has been since the moment she met Rhaegar on the road. Her anger is short-lived, though, as is her shock at his coldness; Ser Gerold lunges forth, running at Robert, Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell following close behind, however they don’t get far. Thunderclap rears up, letting out a loud and terrifying roar, before quickly turning and swinging his tail at the advancing men, knocking them all back and grazing the base of the tower with the tip of it.

 

Lyanna screams when the room shakes, she doesn’t realize how loud until Robert’s yelling back her name. The distraction is enough for the fallen men to stand back up, and block the way to the door. She grips the windowsill, wanting to call back, to tell Robert to take her home. _But he’s not come to take me home._ Not Winterfell, she’s certain. Storm’s End, perhaps. Though, would he even _want_ to help her once he sees her? Her fingers turn white with how hard she grips the stone. _He won’t take me back, he’ll leave me here to die, he’ll—_ It’s strange how when she first laid with Rhaegar, all she could think of was she’d do anything, _anything_ to lose Robert’s attention, but now… _My brothers,_ it suddenly comes to her, _where are my brothers?_ They should be the ones to come for her, not Robert, _not Rhaegar._

 

Robert looks on the verge of snapping when he looks back at Ser Gerold. “There’s no reason for more bloodshed,” though he certainly looks like he wants it now. “Allow me to pass, let me take my bride home. You need not die today.”

 

“We need not die,” Ser Arthur scoffs. “Says you with your dragon. A coward, I name you. Face me in single combat. We’ll see who the gods favor.”

 

“Single combat?” Robert makes a noise, almost a laugh, but darker, harsher. He twists his hammer in his hands. “Single combat, just the same offer your king gave Rickard Stark. To your challenge, I’ll respond just the same. _Fire is my champion._ ”

 

Lyanna watches, transfixed, horrified, as the three guards take up arms again, she wants to scream at them now, to lay down their swords, to see reason, _give up_ , but her voice is caught in her throat, and it’s too late besides. If they thought they would face the man, they’re all wrong. She doesn’t know how it is the battles unfolded, but she doubted Robert showed any mercy at all. And now, _now_ all Robert has to do is turn, and—

 

“Did you even tell her? What Aerys did?” Robert looks up, meets her eyes, before dropping his gaze. “Does she know what your prince’s actions _cost_ her?”

 

Lyanna blinks, confused at his words, but there’s something… _something_ about what he says that pricks at her heart, and she fears what news he brings. _And then—_

 

There’s no reply other than battle cries, that quickly morph into those of agony. She can feel the heat from her place by the window, hears the screams of Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold as they’re roasted inside their armor. _Dying._ It only takes a second, for Thunderclap to bathe his rider’s enemies with dragonfire and then there’s nothing left of them but char. Char and the haunting echoes of their dying cries, the sickening stench of burnt flesh.

 

Lyanna doesn’t even realize she’s screaming again, not until Robert bursts through her chamber door with a single blow of his great warhammer. He tosses it carelessly to the side as he crosses to her, kneels before her and places his large hands on her shoulders, urging her to calm. “Lyanna, it’s over, it’s all over. You’re safe now. I have you.” He pulls her into his arms when her screams give way to sobs. Her chest feels tight, she can hardly breathe, she cannot stop her hands from shaking as they dig in to the fabric of Robert’s surcoat. Robert’s arms tighten around her waist, and it’s then that she remembers her condition, realizes that he’s not yet seen—

 

“My dragon will not harm you, my Lyanna, not so long as you are with me. Come now, to Riverrun, that’s where they all wait, and then we’ll—”

 

“Robert, no.” She shoves him away from her with all the strength she can muster. Like a kitten swatting a boulder, but he moves for her all the same, sits back on his haunches and watches her with his shining blue eyes, wide with surprise, before they drop from her face to her hands, resting protectively over the unmistakable swell of her belly. “I’ll not go to Riverrun, and we’ll not do anything, not you and I. Our betrothal, it’s broken.”

 

“Rhaegar—” Robert growls, his fists clenching, a look on his face as fierce as that of his dragon’s. “I’d kill him a hundred times over again for this.”

 

“For answering my prayers?” She replies, aiming to sting him, and succeeding, by the way he flinches. “Not even the blacksmith would marry me like this, let alone a lord. All you’ve fought for, it’s been in vain.”

 

Robert sneers again, then pauses. “All I’ve fought for… Lyanna, you’ve held my heart from the day we met, but— Did they not tell you? You truly do not know?”

 

“Tell me what? Of the war? I know, I know I caused this. I know you fought for my safety, my- my hand. But—”

 

“I would fight a battle every day for you, Lyanna, and you’d be worth every one,” he interrupts with a strained whisper, before shaking his head, voice gaining back its strength. “But that is not what this war was for.”

 

Her brow furrows, she shakes her head. “But they said— and you’re here. Why else would you turn against the crown, but for Rhaegar’s perceived crimes?”

 

“Oh, Lyanna…” He takes her hands in his, looking as someone who would rather say anything but what he’s about to say. “The war… Your disappearance set things into motion, but it was not the sole cause. Brandon… he went to King’s Landing to find you, he demanded Rhaegar come out to face him in combat. The king imprisoned him for it. Called it treason, and then he summoned Lord Stark to answer for his son, and…”

 

Her head is already shaking from side to side, even as he trails off. Unbelieving, she simply couldn’t— _that wasn’t supposed to happen…_

 

“Aerys murdered your father and brother. A trial by combat… A cruel bloody jape, he named his dragon as his champion. I… I am so sorry, Lyanna. They’re dead.”

 

And Lyanna screams again.

 


End file.
